


The Cat Noir

by anna_thema



Category: Arkham Horror (Board Game), Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Canon Non-Binary Character, F/F, Gen, References to Lovecraft, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_thema/pseuds/anna_thema
Summary: My story begins on a rainy night in Arkham, MA. The rain pounds against the window, meshing seamlessly with the pounding of typewriter keys. The walls here are thin, and the neighbors might complain about the noise, but if they wanna raise a fuss they can pay my bills. Whether chasing the latest story or chasing a shot of whiskey, life here ain’t cheap, least of all for a woman. That’d be me.Laura Hollis, freelance reporter.ORHardened Reporter Laura Hollis investigates a string of dissapearing girls in Arkham, MA and finds quite more than she bargained for. Done in the style of a 1920s noir detective novel.
Relationships: Carmilla/Laura (Carmilla), Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein
Kudos: 24





	1. Drawn Towards Her

My story begins on a rainy night in Arkham, MA. The rain pounds against the window, meshing seamlessly with the pounding of typewriter keys. The walls here are thin, and the neighbors might complain about the noise, but if they wanna raise a fuss they can pay my bills. Whether chasing the latest story or chasing a shot of whiskey, life here ain’t cheap, least of all for a woman. That’d be me.

Laura Hollis, freelance reporter.

I pour a drink from the bottle on my desk, the very last of my whiskey from Canada, and resume pounding out my latest story. Ironically, it’s a mob story I’m on the trail of, though for once it’s not about the booze. Seems that girls been going missing around town, and the only thing tying it all together is the local speakeasy. Now I’m not one to tout the Volstead Act, but when a missing persons case gets connected to the Clover Club, you can bet its nothing good. This latest lead comes from my contact on the force, one Sargent LaFontaine, forensic analyst. Always good for the latest scoop, and handy in case I find myself on the wrong side of a “No Trespassing” sign.

There’s a knock on the door, and I stow the hooch before my landlady, Ms. Lola Perry, pokes her head in.

“Laura dear? I just wanted to let you know that you’ve got some mail.” She sets a very thick stack of very thin envelopes on my desk and gingerly picks her way out of the room.

I sigh and look through the pile of envelopes. It’s mostly bills that I need to pay, a couple rejection letters from newspapers I’ve applied to. There’s a lengthy and concerned letter from my dad that I set aside for later, and the rest is junk, or so I think. I’m about to sweep the rest into the bin when a note catches my eye. Its from LaFontaine. The letter is brief:

“Got a tip from a friend that there’s going to be some kind of party at the Clover Club tonight. Not enough for us to shut it down, yet. Besides, have the officers on the force spend their off-duty time there. Thought you might want to know though; might be you can dig something up on your missing girls.”

Now this is interesting. Every one of the missing girls I’ve been looking into has been by that speakeasy at one point or another. I’ve tried to get the police involved, but as Laf says, they’re about as inclined to shut the place down as they are to put the drugstore out of business. But that’s cops for you. No one seemed to care when I raised a ruckus bout these girls going missing, so I decided to do their work for them. I got a nose for a story, and I’ve read all of Sherlock Holmes. If I can break this story, it’ll make me as a journalist.

Gotta find them first though, and for that, I need a drink.

The clover club is the kind of place where a gal has got to watch her back, and her drink. Prohibition may be the law of the land, but it was the best thing to ever happen to organized crime. Seems there are more speakeasys in town these days than there were bars. As a side note, a woman can finally get a decent drink without being barred from every public house she finds. After all, what are they gonna do, call the police? That comes with upsides and downsides though.

I shrug on an overcoat and hat that hide my shape well enough to keep me out of the gaze of men who might give me a hard time. It’s not safe to be out and about as a woman, least of all in a city like Arkham, and I’m not interested in that kind of man. Any man really.

Ms. Perry looks nervously at me as I tramp down the stairs and down the hall to the door, but doesn’t say anything. She’s used to my nighttime ramblings by now, and she knows I pack a .41 Derringer and a switchblade in case anyone gets too handsy.

The air is cool and damp with the scent of the river. Arkham in the day is a queer old town, but at night it gets downright otherworldly. The whole city broods under shadow, sullen and menacing. Legends abound of the Witch House, the Arkham Cannibal, and a shadowy island in the Miskatonic river where there are carved standing stones older than any human settlement. Someday, I aim to uncover the truth about all of them, but right now, my aims are slightly more mundane.

Turning up my collar, I start down Bauman Rd and make my way towards east town. I know the way well enough, being no stranger to the allure of moonshine. Soon, I arrive at a shadowy alley in between an antique shop and a bookstore. Down a flight of stairs is an unmarked door with a four leafed clover on it. I knock three times and give the password:

“It’s always midnight at the clover club.”

A bit overdone if you asked me, but no one did. A surly heavyset man opens the door for me, and I step into another world. Cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air, and the bar is thick with all stripes of folks. Off duty cops rub shoulders with farmers and fishermen, gangsters and actors. For a welcome, change not everyone in here is white. A black man who I vaguely recognize plays the trumpet on a makeshift stage, accompanied by a soulful jazz singer.

I slip up to the bar and put down an order. The bartender gives me a long look, which I return icily. Eventually he shrugs and pours. Drink in hand, I survey the club. LaFontaine wasn’t kidding, there’s quite a bit of to do here tonight. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for, but I keep my eye on the scattered contingent of girls here tonight. Most of ‘em are hanging off the arms of fellas round town, gentlemen of shall we say ill repute. If half of these folks knew I was a journalist, they’d need the other half to find what was left of me. That’s why a low profile is key. Reporting on the mob is hazardous for your health.

I keep a watchful eye out, but I don’t see anything worth risking my skin over. I know what it looks like when a girl has had something put in her drink, and I know what it looks like when a girl’s being forced to be somewhere she don’t wanna be, and I’m not seeing any sign of that. I’m about to give up and pack it in when I see Her.

The way she moves through the crowd, it’s like she owns the place. Dark black hair falls to her shoulders. Her flapper dress clings to her body like it’s pressed on, ending in a sequined knee length skirt. She sways, dancing to the music, paying far more attention to the girls in the crowd than the men falling over themselves for her.

Maybe I’ve found a kindred spirit.

This thought has no sooner crossed my mind than her eyes find mine. Her gaze is sharp enough to cut glass, and her eyes shine with a spark that makes me shiver. Most folks here pay me no mind with my collar hiked up and my hat pulled down, but this gal cuts right through me, like she can see into my soul. I shudder, and she makes her way slowly to me.

“Hey”

Her voice is like a cat’s purr, and it cuts through the din of the club. Leans up on the bar next to where I’m sitting, effortlessly displacing the grunt who’d been there a second before. Up close, she’s intoxicating. She leans over to me, and my eyes dip to the swell of her bosom beneath her dress.

“Now what’s a creampuff journalist like you doing in a mob speakeasy?”

My blood freezes, and I’m aware of my face flushing. If this mystery gal is mobbed up, and she’s made me, I reckon I got about twenty seconds before I go from investigating disappeared girls to being one. I start to slip my hand into my pocket, feeling for my gun, she chuckles, and places her hand on mine.

“Relax cutie” she croons, and I blush harder still, “I’m not here to rat you out, I just wanted to see about getting you someplace more private”

She flutters her eyelashes as she says this last bit, and I struggle to find the ability to talk.

“But I don’t even know your name?”

“Well that’s easy,”

And she as she leans into me even more, I feel the press of her breasts against my side, and the tension of my investigation slowly resolves into a different kind of energy. She brushes her lips against my ear and murmurs.

“I’m Carmilla”


	2. Comparing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an intense nighttime encounter, Laura meets up with LaFontaine and they hit the books. Only, the books hit back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In my portrayal of LaFontaines character, I have embraced the non-binary identity established in the webseries. I have attempted to be accurate and respectful in how both Laf and Laura would have described themselves according to gender and sexuality constructions of the 1920s while maintaining some historical accuracy. The line from the end of the paragraph describing Laf comes from Wicked the book. Thought it was appropriate

I’ve always been a queer kind of girl, but it took even me a while to realize why. Me, men have never made me feel anything special, but I had to look in a medical textbook to figure out why. To spell it out plain, I’m what they’d call a ‘sapphist’. I like women, and I don’t mean as a friend, or schoolgirl sweetheart. Its tough, and I learned the penalty for being different almost before I knew that I was different. People have been locked up or killed for less, and it puts a bit of a damper on the dating scene. Carmilla isn’t the first gal like me that I’ve found, but she’s not far off. And when she asks me to follow her in that grimy old speakeasy, it doesn’t take me long to say yes.

Her lips press against mine as she presses me against the wall of the alley behind the Clover Club. She tastes like nothing else, saccharine and hypnotic. Her lips part mine and I feel her hands trace shape of me beneath my coat. For my part, I explore as much of her as I can reach, while her mouth traces the line of my collar. Her teeth are sharp at my throat, and I gasp in shock and pleasure.

“Too much?”

She sounds questioning, and at first I’m taken aback at the change in her demeanor. Then I feel her fingers teasing at the buttons of my coat and blouse, and understand her meaning.

“I, well, uh…”

Tempting as the idea is, and believe me, it is tempting, we aren’t exactly behind closed doors and I’m suddenly aware of how exposed we are, two girls kissing in a back alley. I’m not sure which is worse, getting caught by the mob, or getting caught by the police. Sensing my hesitation, she pulls back.

“Maybe its best if we stick to a -slightly- more modest pace.” I suggest, wanting to get back in control of the situation, but also desparately wanting her to stay with me. “I don’t want to die in a cell at the sanitarium.”

“Love will have its sacrifices.” She replies softly, though complying and kissing me fiercely on the lips instead. “No sacrifice without blood.”

I’m not sure if she’s agreeing with me or protesting, a car motor goes off and she jumps back as if electrified.

“What time is it?” She demands sharply, as polar from her previous demeanor as night from day.

I glace around the corner to where I can just see the façade of town hall with its ancient clock on it.

“About 4:30 in the morning”

I’d had no idea the night was that far along, I guess time does fly, but my surprise is nothing compared to Carmilla’s. Her eyes have grown wide and she looks almost fearful, backing away down the alley.

“Shit, I’ve been out too long, she’ll miss me come daybreak.” Carmilla mutters to herself. She affects a sultry grin, but it comes off a bit sinister in the half light. “well Creampuff, it’s been fun, but I’ve got to dash”

She tips an imaginary cap, then vanishes into the shadows at the other end of the lane. I’m left standing there, wondering whether it all really happened.

In the morning, after what could only loosely be called a good night’s sleep, I’m once again hunched over my desk, puzzling over things. The bruise marks on my neck and collar prove that my romantic encounter was no dream, though it certainly feels like one. Entertaining as the last night was, it got me no closer in my investigations. In the end, I decide to pay a visit to Laf, and see if anything shakes loose there. I shrug on my coat and hat and make my way down to the police station.

Lafontaine is an odd soul. Most people who’d meet them without knowing them would swear they’re a girl. But that wouldn’t be the whole truth. Nor is it accurate to call them a member of the male sex. Far as I can figure, they burned the skirts, put on some pants, and bullied their way on to the police force through a combination of determination, canniness, and scientific genius. Anyone with fewer connections, less scientific knowledge, or yes, more scruples about bribery might have been locked up or worse. Thing is though, Laf is the best at what they do. The entire force would be up a creek without their forensic work, and everyone knows it. Either way, I’m not one to judge, and it takes all sorts. Perhaps after all, LaFontaine chose their own sex, and to hell with the rest of the world.

LaFontaine is a good friend. Us sexual inverts tend to find each other somehow. Truth is, I’m going stopping by as much for the pleasure of their company as for any hope of chasing down a lead. Might help clear my head. I can’t seem to get that girl from last night out of my mind.

The station is a buzz of activity when I arrive. My presence here draws more than a few rolled eyes, and the Sargent at the front desk immediately finds something important elsewhere. I’ve barked up this tree enough times for one thing or another that they all know me by sight, and more than a few of them resent me. That’s not my problem today though.

I push my way through the maze of desks and cabinets until I find the one I’m looking for. Laf looks up when they see me, their expression changing from one of annoyance to pleasant surprise.

“Hollis! What brings you here?”

“Hey Laf” I say by way of greeting, “Thanks for the tip last night, but the club was a bust. Come to stop by and see if you had anything else for me.”

At the mention of the club last night, my cheeks redden. I think Laf notices, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Matter of fact I do have something” They reply instead. “Another girl went missing last night, dame by the name of Betty Speilsdorf”

I gasp and feel my heart rate jump. I recognize Bettys name from my time at Miskatonic University, where we were both students. This is perfect, just perfect. Maybe if I’d been a little more focused on my investigations and less on romantic entanglements with mysterious strangers, I could have stopped this. Sensing my rising panic, Lafontaine cuts me off.

“Hey, Hollis, this isn’t on you, your one person in city full of people, who ever is behind this, it’s on them” They continue, as I nod, “The good news is, that the captain finally thinks this is a big enough to do something about it. I’m headed over to the city archives grab the missing persons reports.

You know…” LaFontaine continues with a sly smile. “If you happened to tag along, It’s not like I could stop you if we happened to both be visiting the same public building…

The archives, huh. Arkham is a town full of history, even recent history. If there’s a chance of figuring things out, it’d be there. And a chance to look over the original reports might be just what I need to break the story open.

“I’m in.” I reply, setting my jaw firm.

LaFontaine grabs a kerosene lantern as we descend into the city archives. For reasons known only to the city archives, there are no windows in the underground room, nor are there any electric lights. We light another lamp at the bottom of the stairs and set off in search of the missing persons reports. We don’t speak much. This isn’t the kind of place that engenders casual conversation. Laf explains that no one really goes down here. Things seem to shift around, and there are rumors of strange lights and noises. They can never find a janitor to stay on staff. I pace down rows of filing cabinets until LaFontaine calls me over to the pertinent records.

“Look here. These are the statements and articles from when the missing girls were first reported, we keep them in a file here, but I swear it was on the other side last time. Hey whats up?”

I don’t answer, because I’m staring at another folder in the light, it’s labeled ‘missing persons 1880 records’ and there’s a photo peeking out over the edge of the folder. LaFontaine follows my gaze as I pull it out.

“Hey-“

But I’ve already got it. It’s a newspaper clipping of a missing girl from 40 years ago, but that’s not what’s arrested my attention. Standing with her arm around the other girl, looking as causal as anything, is Carmilla.

LaFontaine peers over my shoulder.

“You know her?”

“I-“ There’s got to be an explanation. “I met her daughter last night, only it looks just like her”

LaFontaine raises an eyebrow at the word ‘meet’, but otherwise remains silent as I look through the folder again. The woman in the picture is captioned as ‘Mircalla Karnstein’, and is described as a close friend of the missing girl. She’s an absolute ringer for the girl from last night. She peers out of the picture with the same intense gaze that I remember from Carmilla. Beside me, Laf is flipping through an older folder.

“Some of these files are fifty years old or more, who put this here? Hang on, Hollis check this out”

They hold up another newspaper clipping, featuring another photograph. This time it can’t be a coincidence. It’s Carmilla. She looks out defiantly from a photograph about a collegiate class photo, but further down the page is an article titled ‘Fourth Student Missing from Miskatonic, Police Mystified’. As I look at the picture, an impossible idea starts forming it my mind.

A typewriter on the next shelf over comes to sudden life. I jump, my hand instinctively going under my coat for the weapon I know I left at home, I look for LaFontaine, but they’re five feet away as the typewriter continues clacking away.

“Uhm?” Laf manages, as I creep closer to the infernal machine, ready to jump back. It must be mechanized, right?

By now I’m close enough to read the message being printed out on paper:

“Run. Get Out. GET OUT NOW”

I’ve barely finished reading it out when from the other end of the archives, hidden in darkness, a violet glow starts to coalesce from thin air. An instant later, wind picks up from nowhere, gathering debris and loose papers and forming an eerie, violet cyclone that wends its way towards us, menacing.

“Oh no you don’t” Laf Starts forward, “Not on my watch is anything going to desecrate this place!”

I think they’re being a bit gung-ho personally, in the face of something I can’t even believe I’m seeing, but I’m unable to stop them as they brandish the lantern at the advancing whirlwind. It catches on one of the papers circling us.

And All Hell breaks loose.

Between the tearing wind, the debris flying around, and the blazing inferno, getting out of the city archives is a bit of a process. I’m still reeling from getting slugged by an old Dictaphone roll when we finally stumble out of town hall and onto deserted Federal St

“What…The Hell…was that?” I gasp, choking out acrid and stifling smelling smoke.

LaFontaine, missing part of an eyebrow but otherwise uninjured, looks up and shrugs.

“This city’s always been a bit…unusual. Legends of witches, vampires, ghosts etc. Sometimes you’ll see things out of the corner of your eye, but there may be a lot more truth to some of those legends than we know about.”

They heft up the possessed typewriter that we found.

“For research.” They add with an apologetic shrug.

But I tune the budding scientist out, because something they mentioned has wormed it’s way into my mind and taken root. As I ponder, it takes root into an impossible idea. I pull out the folder I snagged on the way out, the one with all the Carmilla look-alikes. I find a bench and sit down, already pouring over the evidence.

The first thing I notice is that it’s abundantly obvious that the names are all anagrams of Carmilla. Mircalla, Millarca, etc. Whoever this woman is, there was clearly no imagination put into the names.

That’s the other thing, because this is more than family resemblance. I don’t care how inbred you are, no one looks that similar to their relatives. The woman looking out from these photos _is_ Carmilla, but their all dated at least 20 years apart. I remember how cold Carmilla’s skin felt last night, how pale her skin looks even in the photos. It cant’t be. Could she really be a-

LaFontaine has sidled up and is peering over my shoulder. They cast a professional eye over my perusing.

“Yep,” They pronounce, as casual as remarking on a baseball game, “thought so, Vampire”


	3. Descending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from the shock of the nights events, Laura and Laf hatch plans to capture Carmilla. Featuring:a possesed typewriter, seduction eyes, and a virgin sacrifice.

**Chapter 3**

There are moments in my life, great epiphanies that change the rules. One was when I first kissed a girl, another was my first published article. This, this isn’t one of them.

I don’t so much know how to react when I find out I’ve hooked up with a vampire.

“I’m sorry, you knew I hooked up with a vampire and you didn’t say anything?” I’m currently too indignant to be shocked that vampires do in fact exist. Laf shrugs, at least having the decency to look abashed.

“Well, I kinda just thought you were trying to play it cool, didn’t want to be all speciesist.”

Is that even a word?

I must be in shock, because Laf swoops in.

“Listen Hollis, you look in shock. Why don’t we get you home, and we can strategize from there.”

They help me bundle up the files, along with the possessed typewriter, and together we shuffle away to my apartment. Perry looks at us askance as we head up the stairs to my room. We both must look shell shocked, but she merely resumes cleaning the drawing room. That woman is fanatical about tidiness.

In my room I waste no time in availing myself of my emergency whisky stash. I’d say this qualifies. Laf meanwhile is setting up the typewriter, which starts tapping out a message. It purports to be a man called J.P Armitage, junior records clerk. He’d been down in the library shelving some books when an eerie mist encircled him. Next thing he knows, he’s a typewriter.

“Any relation to Henry Armitage at Miskatonic?” Laf speculates. There’s a surge of typing as a new message spits out.

“No idea, possibly a distant relation, though I have been trapped for quite some time, many decades at least. I`m afraid I’m a bit out of touch. :(“

Huh, talking typewriters, go figure. But that still doesn’t solve the problem of what we’re going to do about my vampire problem. With J.P’s help, Laf and I pour over the facts, there aren’t many. Every 20 years or so, a bunch of young women go missing in Arkham, and every time they do, this girl is in the middle of it.

“So She’s got to go, right?” I demand of Laf and the disembodied J.P.

Laf runs a hand through their hair, looking tired. We’ve been up most of the night.

“I dunno Hollis. Taking on a vampire’s gotta be pretty tough, and it’s not like we can just report this to the captain and ask for help. We’re going to need backup.”

“Where are we going to find that?”

“Beats me, I have some contacts in one of the local gangs though, maybe we can get the Zetas to help.”

It’ll have to do. After some more brainstorming and a little bit of bribery, LaFontaine is pretty sure that some of their informants and gang contacts can be brought in to help. They leave just as the sun’s coming up, and I’m left to tackle the more tricky problem: how to capture an elusive, conniving and yes, sexy vampire without getting bitten.

The next day, or rather later that same day, I’m woken up at 4:30 in the afternoon by Perry’s knocking on the door of my apartment.

“Excuse me Laura? There’s a policeman-person here to see you, a LaFontaine?”

I blink sleep from my eyelids and groggily make myself ‘presentable’.

“Show ‘em in, Perry.”

Laf looks way to chipper for this time of day. They took the typewriter with them last night, and I’m somewhat relieved that they haven’t brought it with them. The last thing I need is that thing-guy giving me a cluster headache, no matter how helpful he is.

“Hey Laura!” Laf chimes out, and I wince. I think I’m maybe a bit hungover.

“Shhhhhhh”

“Sorry” They say, just as loudly, “but me and J.P were busy today researching vampire myths and history in Arkham. I think we’ve got something.”

“And what is it that you found?” I’m slowly catching up to speed here, but it’s taking a second.

“Well, I think I have an idea to catch this Carmilla” Laf starts to look ashamed, “but you’re really not gonna like it.”

***

Laf was wrong, I don’t not like the plan, I _hate_ it. This genius and the talking typewriter have decided that the best way to capture our vampiric suspect is to dress me up as bait and lure her away, then jump her. It is by far the worst idea I’ve heard of.

“This is by far the worst idea I’ve heard of.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

“Uhm…”

So that’s how I end up a few days later, dressed like a , strolling down Federal Street towards the Clover Club. Based on our reconnaissance, Carmilla shows up here most nights, usually leaving here with some floozy or other on her arm. So far no one else has disappeared, but to keep it that way we need to draw her out. For some reason, Laf seems convinced that I’m the one to get her to make a move. The bouncer lets me in and I head over to my usual drinking spot. I’ve been keeping a low profile around here, now that the mob angle of my investigation has dried up. I’d almost rather the gangsters a this point.

I’m downing an unhealthy amount of alcohol and doing my best to look alluring to vampires, when I see her across the dance floor. She’s lounging in a bench, sipping her drink, and it looks like she’s been watching me for a while. As our eyes meet she glides gracefully to her feet and saunters across the room.

“Well don’t you look like a virgin sacrifice.” She purrs.

She’s one to talk. If I thought I was risqué, Carmilla puts me to shame. A corset encircles her bosom tightly, displaying quite a deal of breast. A skirt that barely deserves the name is pulled over a pair of silk stockings and a garter belt. As I glance over her ensemble, I feel a stirring in my own chest. She notices.

“I’ve been looking for you, you know.” She sounds almost reproachful.

“Yeah well, things to do and…” I fade under her gaze. It’s like a cat watching a mouse.

“Let’s go then.” She says, grabbing my wrist and all but dragging me from the club.

Our plan at this point was for Carm and I to stay at the bar for a while until Laf shows up and follows us out, but she’s a woman on a mission, and I go to plan B. we had agreed to take her at my house, so with some trepidation I lead her home. Perry is asleep, and as I close the door to my room she drops any remaining pretense of subtlety. She takes her hands in mine and gazes hungrily at me. This girl serious seduction eyes. And hungry, too. The girl with the hungry eyes. I start to reach for the phone and she zeroes in on me.

“What are you doing?”

“Just” I can’t let her know what’s going on. “I thought I might invite some people over, in case-“

She cuts me off, placing a finger on my lips, and staring down into my eyes.

“Maybe I don’t feel like sharing you.”

That would sound flattering if it didn’t make it sound like a canape. But now she’s staring deeper into my eyes, and there’s a trace of sadness there. She looks almost wistful. Suddenly she drops her hand and looks down.

“God what’s wrong with me tonight?” she sighs, “Naïve provincial girl, entirely too tightly wound…”

She’s really running hot and cold, this girl.

“Still, there is something about you.” Her hungry gaze returns, and she cocks her head, as though to kiss my neck.

Or bite it.

This is it, I’m going to be bitten by a vampire. I think I would be turned on if I weren’t so terrified. I’m about to scream when out of nowhere-

“Get away from her you bloodsucker!”

***

What follows is a ruckus to put the Harvard Miskatonic football game to shame. Laf shows up with the cavalry, a half dozen bruisers who are decidedly not police. I think they might actually be mobsters. They pile on Carmilla and she fights like the devil. I hear the crunch of multiple bones breaking and numerous black eyes. Somehow they get a rope around her and Laf hangs a braid of garlic around her neck. This, along with the gag some brave soul put on her, seems to subdue her.

So now we have a vampire, but what the hell am I going to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far! I hope this story provided you with some measure of escape, and been as much fun to read as it has been to write.


	4. The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura 'interrogates' her prisoner, who has quite a few secrets to reveal. Featuring: a tragic backstory, an interlude, and a not so unrequited crush.

**Chapter 4**

When I moved to Arkham, my Dad warned me that it wasn’t like other cities. He told me to watch out, to keep my guard up, and he lectured me on every conceivable way I could find myself in over my head.

He did not, however, brief me on what to do if I found myself holding a vampire hostage in my own bedroom.

Carmilla glares up at me with dagger eyes. Her mouth is gagged and her arms are pinned to her sides with rope, but I still don’t want to get too close. We’ve tied her to the chair and strung a braid of garlic around her neck. A crucifix rests on the table nearby, along with a sharpened stake. Laf wasn’t too sure which exact method of capture would work, so we’re covering our bases. After dealing with (and being dealt with by) a very distraught Perry, who now believes we were rehearsing for a play, Laf and the boys have left, leaving me alone with a vampire seductress. An evil creature of the night. An undead revenant from the pits of tartarus.

So far though, it’s really just a staring contest.

“So…fiend. We know you’re a vampire, and we know you’re taking girls away for your nefarious purposes. So, um, you might as well confess and make this easy on yourself.”

Nothing. Glacial stare.

This could go on forever, but we’re interrupted by the harsh ringing of the phone. I lunge to pick up the receiver before it can rouse Perry again, and hear Laf’s frantic voice on the other end.

“Hollis, you there?”

“Laf? What’s going on?”

“So I just got back from the station, and I think we may have a problem.”

You mean other than the literal Vampire tied up in my room

Well let’s get this over with “Go ahead Laf.”

“Someone else was kidnapped tonight taken from a back alley where she stepped out to smoke. That makes six missing from the same speakeasy The officer on duty, and this happened two hours ago, when Carmilla was with us.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“So that means…”

“Yeah. We got the wrong vampire.”

***

Carmilla resumes her icy stare as I put down the receiver. I return it with a look that is equal parts suspicion and uncertainty. This girl is clearly bad news, but is she the bad news I’ve been tracking, or is there another player here? There’s an obvious way to find out, but I’m really not looking forward to it.

She winces when I yank the gag off of her mouth. Good. She’s been a lot of trouble for me. She works her jaw out, but closes it quickly before I can see if she has fangs. I grab a chair and sit down, and do my best to look tough.

“So, vampire. We know you’re a…vampire, and we know you’ve been acting really creepy, and helping kidnap girls, so just make it easy on yourself and tell us the name of your accomplice.”

She seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers. She leans in as much as her bonds will allow.

“I didn’t do it, you gibbering schoolgirl.”

Well that’s that I guess.

“I’m really supposed to take your word for it? I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but tonight it sure looked like you were trying to eat me.”

“I wasn’t out to hurt you! Wait you thought I was going to eat you?” A pained, mortified look I don’t understand crosses her face. “In a manner of speaking I guess.” She mumbles, looking at the floor.

Wait, but if she wasn’t trying to kidnap me, what else would she mean by ea-

Oh.

I get it.

Carmilla crumples. She looks up at me with such mortification, as I blush crimson.

“So, when I brought you back here, you thought we…”

“Yes, and you were luring me into a trap.” She seems unable to look me in the eye. “Please, could you just stake me now, because I think I would prefer death to being this humiliated.”

My brain is reeling from this sudden news. It’s hard being duped by a girl you think is sweet for you, I know that from experience. For the first time since I found out Carmilla was a vampire, I consider her. Maybe, she and I…

No, got to stay on track.

“Alright, but if you weren’t trying to kidnap me, you must know something about who did, right? I mean you are a vampire.”

"Just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I'm evil!"

"You're an undead feind!"

"Yeah, but not a kidnapper."

Carmilla sits back in her chair in embarrassed exasperation. She sniffs the garlic garland, and makes a face. She seems resigned to her circumstances, at least for now.

“Alright creampuff, I'll give you my side of the story. But to really understand things, we’ve got to go back to the beginning. And I mean way back.”

“I’ve got time.”

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself for something, then begins recounting her story, in a quiet, sorrowful voice.

***

**Interlude: Carmilla’s Story.**

I was born Mircalla, daughter of the count Karnstein, in Styria, a dutchy of Austria, in 1680. Austria was embroiled in the great war against the Ottoman Empire, but such things meant little to a wealthy girl. When I was 18 I attended a ball, where I was murdered. I suffered from an illness of sorts, more ill than ever you were. For a time I forgot all but my pain and weakness. Yet these were not so bad as suffered at other times, from other diseases, and after a time the clouds cleared, and I was raised to new life, an undying death.

It was my mother who saved me, not my birth mother, but the mother who raised me after death. I knew very little of her, save that she was very old, and very powerful, and had pried apart the jaws of death to enact my rescue. The wide world opened before me in death as it never had in life. We danced in the mirrored halls of Versailles, and watched over seas no man had named. We saw great cities built and crumbled before the first human had ever stood upright, and reveled in the secret places of the earth to human eye had ever beheld. We saw the birth of a new world, in science and philosophy and revolution. Every night a grand ball, a hunt, a feast.

There was a price to my new freedom, however. After a time we would always have to return to this place, this land, to perform a ritual. Mother would never tell me what exactly it required, save that it required young girls, sacrificed to a being older than this planet. It was my job to pick the girls, to nurture them, and to ensure that they were ready for what would befall them. I was never their killer, I was a lure of sorts. I fed, when I had to, but it was always mother who dealt the final blow. But that’s how I met Elle.

It was 1872, the Metropolitan Museum of Art had just opened in New York, and I wanted nothing so much as to see it, but it was time again, and mother insisted. The game started off much the same. A chance encounter, a fast friendship, a kindled spark. Only this time nothing was a lie. When the time came to deliver Elle unto her fate, I couldn’t bare to give her up. So we planned our escape and I went ahead to make preparations. That was when disaster struck. I had gone to great lengths to hide from Elle what I truly was, but when mother discovered my treachery, she went to Elle in secret, and revealed my deceit in the most horrifying of ways. Elle believed me to be a monster.

My love, my most precious, gazed on my in revulsion as I was taken away by mothers cultists. And I, in turn, looked on in horror as Elle was taken away to the horrible fate I had sought to save her from. My punishment was to be sealed in a coffin of blood, and buried near my home, that I might while away the long centuries in the dark and the silence.

But then the war came, the Great War of the modern age. It rent the earth with bombs and trenches, and my internment came to an end. My prison cell was broken open, and I stumbled off the battlefield to greet the 20th century. I came to Arkham to find the game still afoot, just with different players. I don’t know if mother knew of my survival, I don’t think she cared. But I’ve done what I can to save who I can. I run interference where she operates. I try to take the girls she’s marked, spirit them away for some more benign assignation. But it will never undo what I have done, never bring back what I have lost.

***

The sun is fully up by the time Carmilla finishes her story. She looks on the verge of tears, and I find it hard to believe she’s not telling the truth. For long minutes we sit in silence, Carmilla sniffling slightly while I process her in this new light.

“If I untie you, are you going to try and bite me?”

She gives a rueful laugh. “No creampuff, I won’t. It’s not my style to force myself on unwilling prey, and you’ve made it very clear that you don’t wish for that kind of attention.”

I feel a twinge of guilt in my gut, which I try to silence, along with the urge to correct her on her assumption. Instead I gently loosen the her bonds and stand back as she stretches and stands. She turns to face me, but keeps her distance, like she’s afraid to get to close or appear to threatening. For my part, I’m still thinking over what she’s said.

“So, your mother is the leader of some cult that sacrifices girls to…something. So we’ve gotta stop her, right?”

Carmilla looks skeptical. “If it was that easy, don’t you think I’d have done it? My mother is ancient and powerful, and the thing she serves, even more so. This isn’t something you fight Laura, this is just something you survive, and that’s if your lucky.”

“Well we’ve got to try right? I mean, this can’t go on!”

“Maybe it can, and maybe it can’t. But either way, neither of us can do anything while we’re this exhausted. What do you say you let me get some shut eye? I suggest you do the same.”

“Yeah ok.” She is right. I’ve been up for more hours than I care to think about, and I do feel pretty dead on my feet. The only problem is where to put Carmilla. Trusting her aside, there’s only one bed.

Carmilla seems to arrive at the same conclusion. “Here, you can take the bed, I’ll sleep in the next room. Hey” She continues, when I open my mouth to object. “Vampire constitution trumps lower back pain. Plus you can lock the door or whatever, if you want.”

With that she saunters into the other room, and curls up on a patch of rug, looking for all the world like a cat asleep. I hesitate for a moment, then close the door without locking it, and crawl into bed.

Worst. Crush. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the adventure so far! This has been something of a passion project, so thank you for the support:)   
> Stay tuned for more 1920's heroic vampire bullshit.


	5. Moths to a Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura get to know each other and their enemies a bit better. 
> 
> Featuring: Numerous paper cuts, Not a Date, and a friend in peril.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a long time coming! Things have been difficult lately and I've been unable to write as much as I'd like to. But here you go! Hope it was worth the wait!

Despite my misgivings, I make it through the night without getting bitten. Carmilla is asleep when I wake up, so I busy myself with the task of putting my notes (and thoughts) in order. Given what Carmilla told me last night, and assuming it was true, her ‘mother’ seems like a likely culprit. I just wish I had some way of knowing where to start looking. Arkham’s got secret cults like most other cities have pigeons, but I’ll need more to go on than throwing darts at the wall. Time to rally the troops.

Laf picks up when I call the police station, but says they can’t get away from work at the moment.

“Sorry Hollis, the Captains up my ass right now, wasn’t happy about the hullabaloo last night. I’ll keep working this as much as I can, I have JP with me. I’ll come by tonight or tomorrow if I can.”

I’m able to catch them up on enough of Carmilla’s backstory to give them the gist before shouting in the background precipitates an end to our phone call. So for now I have the apartment to myself and the possibly not quite homicidal vampire. I decide to take a leaf out of Perry’s book, and get to cleaning.

Carmilla crawls out of sleep around 11am, just as I finish dusting and organizing my notes. She looks around the apartment in a dazed way, as if she can’t quite believe how she got here. Her hair is tousled from sleep, and she’s appropriated one of my old dresses in leu of her flapper garb from last night. The sun coming through the window doesn’t turn her to dust, but it does strike her face in the most beautiful light…

Focus Hollis, focus.

“Hey, uhm, you’re up!” I manage.

She mumbles something back that sounds like a greeting.

“Waking up this early ought to be illegal. You got any kind of coffee?”

“You don’t want the instant stuff I have, trust me. There’s a diner around the corner though, if you wanna go there.”

Carmilla eyes me suspiciously, but nods her head. “Sounds good. Lead the way cutie.”

I turn from her to grab my coat and keys, hoping she won’t notice me blushing.

***

Velma’s diner is the best place in Arkham for breakfast. It’s also terrible on my wallet. Seriously, living down the street from this place has been a problem. The chill in the air doesn’t seem to bother Carmilla, who steals my clothes without a word and makes herself presentable. I hope I’m not making a mistake, taking her out in public, but something it what she told me last night struck a cord, and I don’t think she deserves be kept tied up. Plus, the fact that she didn’t eat me last night speaks volumes. I’ve never seen her out in the daylight, and while it doesn’t turn her to ash, she does seem sluggish, like she’s still waking up.

The waitress seats us in a booth away from the windows, and I order a donut and coffee for both of us. Carmilla, predictably, takes hers black. She sips, staring at the table, taking quiet sips. I for my part, am uncertain what to do. I should be pumping her for information, but awkwardness hangs in the air between us. I busy myself with eating, when she surprises me by breaking the silence.

“Thanks.”

I’m startled. “For what?”

She glances at me, but quickly looks away. “For not writing me off I guess. I come on pretty strong, and most people wouldn’t keep me around, especially after I…”

She trails off, and we both look away. The memory of her kissing me is still fresh in my mind, desire mingled with shame at having used it to lure her into a trap.

“Well,” I try to recover my composure. “I couldn’t just leave you alone with Perry, and you are the best lead I have.”

She blinks at me, and pulls her hand back across the table. Was she grabbing for the sugar or something?

“Yeah, about that, I heard you on the phone earlier, and if your science major can come through, I think I have some ideas.”

“Really? You’re helping us?”

She shrugs “Yeah well, don’t let it go to your head. I just don’t want to worry about mysterious abductions when I’m at the club. We’d better get back to things though.”

I finish my breakfast and Carmilla gives me a hard stare until I pull out my wallet to pay. I guess I can’t argue with her on that one.

Back at the apartment, there’s no sign of Perry. She must be out on errands, which is fortunate. If I keep bringing girls back she’s going to get ideas. Speaking of which I hope Carmilla has something up her sleeve. Up in my rooms, I pull out all of my research on the missing girls. Carmilla casts an appraising eye over it.

“Wow Hollis, you really need a hobby huh?”

“For you rinformation, this is my job, and I’m pretty good at it. Now, does anything jump out at you? I need fresh eyes on this.”

For the next couple hours we pour over police reports, photographs, and archived stuff I pulled from the library. Carmilla gets this scrunched up expression when she’s concentrating, and at one point the dust makes her sneeze just like a cat. It’s honestly pretty adorable, but I have to focus. We have a mystery to solve, and if sometimes our arms brush against each other, well that’s just what comes of living in a small apartment.

Eventually Carm comes up with something. “Hey Laura, check this out.”

My heart flutters, which I try unsuccessfully to tell myself is due to the possibility of having a lead.

I peer over Carm’s shoulder at a newspaper clipping from the last rash of disappearances. It’s an article about a freak earthquake that struck Arkham that year, around the same time. Apparently it just about leveled the Lustig theatre building at MU.

“You think this has anything to do with it?” I ask, unsure, but then she pulls up another article.

“Maybe not, but check out this one, from way back in 1870. Same thing with a bunch of girls going missing, and here,” she points to an article further down the page, “another earthquake at Miskatonic. That can’t be a coincidence, right?”

She’s not wrong. Well dang, this girl’s good.

“You think that’s where they could be based?”

“Idon’t know, but Mother is a trustee of the university, and spends a lot of time keeping an eye on it’s affairs. Given what we’ve read, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Well, it’s the best lead we have so far. “I’ll call up Laf, and we can check it out tomorrow.”

But when I call the station, the desk officer tells me that Laf hasn’t been in. “Look lady, all I know is that they left a couple hours ago to ‘follow up on a lead’ and havn’t been in since. Now I’ve got the sarge breathing down my neck and no time for nosy reporters!”

Laf isn’t at their apartment either, and when Carm and I knock on the door the landlady tells me she hasn’t seen them all day. It’s getting dark by this point, and I’m starting to worry. We turn back toward my place, in case they turn up there. However, when Perry answers the door, she’s distraught with worry/

“Oh Laura, thank goodness you’re here! I was so worried when I got home and found this on the door!”

She thrusts a piece of paper into my hands. On it, in a manic scrawl, is the following:

Dear Ms. Hollis, your friend no longer lives in Arkham because:

a) They were a nosy little brat who didn’t know what was good for them

b) Did you really think we wouldn’t find you?

c) We are ancient and terrible, we are, were, and shall ever be

d) Ia! Ia! The Hungry Light, Devourer of Souls!


	6. Love and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head for Laura and Carmilla as they descend into the depths to face the Hungry Light.

Chapter 6  
Shit. Shit shit shit. I stagger up the stairs, clutching the note in my hand. I stagger and nearly fall going up the stairs, and someone catches me. It takes me a second to realize it’s Carmilla. Perry watches us as we stagger through the door, wringing her hands. She hovers at the edges as I collapse on the bed.

“Laura? Laura.” Carmilla’s face fills my vision, worry etching the lines of her face. Her hand closes over mine and she gently wrests the note from my hands. “Here Hollis, get some rest.” 

She speaks to Perry briefly, who returns with a cup of tea (cause of course she has one ready at all times). Carm crosses to my desk and takes out the whiskey bottle, she considers, then pours a shot into the glass. Perry raises her eyes but remains silent.  
The spiked tea warms me, and after a couple sips my hands stop shaking. Through all of this Carmilla watches me with an expression I can’t read. She’s never far, and after Perry leaves, presumably to call the cops, she sits down on the bed next to me, our shoulders touching. 

“We have a pretty good lead on where they may have gone, and based on what I’ve seen of Mother’s activities I think I can get us close. From there we might be able to pick up a trace.”

It takes a few moments for her words to sink in, and a few more to process them.

“’We’, you mean?”

Carm meets my gaze, her face kind. “Yeah creampuff, I’ll come with you, I’ll help you get the egghead back.”  
I can’t help it, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder. She smells like old books and ink, familiar and comfortable. She stiffens, then relaxes, patting me awkwardly on the back.

“…there there.”

I laugh, aware that I’m half crying already. We stay like this for a while, and she just cradles me. I pull away and look at her, trying not to think about what the tightness in my chest means. Carmilla looks away, affecting a disinterest.

“Ok cupcake, let’s get you cleaned up, we should head out soon.”

She’s not fooling anyone, but I shake myself and start making ready to do probably the most foolhardy thing in my life. Carmilla raises her eyebrows as I rummage through my dresser and come up with an enormous bottle labled ‘Bear Spray’ in large handwritten letters.

“You planning on invading the local zoo?”

“My dad is super protective, he all but forced me to take this when I told him I was moving to Arkham.”

I pull on some fresh clothes (Carm turns away, blushing) and pull out two guns. Another gift from dad, apparently being a girl in a big city means you need your own gun shop. Not that it hasn’t been appreciated at times. One of them is a .22 Derringer, which I hand to Carmilla, she tucks it out of sight. The other is a .45 revolver, which I strap to the holster under my jacket. I’m hoping I won’t need either of them.  
Thus armed and armored, I turn to Carmilla. Through all of this, she hasn’t made a single move to prepare, but has watched me with consideration. At last I turn to her.

“I know you’re not doing this for me, but I’m glad to have you along. I really can’t imagine doing this alone.”

“Don’t be silly.” She stands and crosses to me, holding the door open as we pass out onto the landing. “Of course I’m doing it for you.”

Shit. I’m in trouble now. I’ve got it bad.

***

It’s getting dark again by the time we set out through the streets of arkham, because of course it is. The streets are empty and our footsteps echo of the cobblestones, reverberating off the silent buildings and mingling with the mist curling around the streetlights. Carmilla is silent beside me as we make our way across town, across the Garrison St Bridge, where the water murmurs silently beneath us, revealing nothing in the moonlight. We pass the silent shops of the merchant district, and come across the Miskatonic Campus, brooding over the silent town. We reach the Lustig building and Carmilla breaks her silence.

“Hold up here Hollis, I’ll take it from here.”

She cocks her head, breathing in the night air. This is getting weird(er).

“Are you smelling them?”

She shakes her head, eyes closed.

“It’s more like a feeling, like having forgotten something, or the prickling at the back of your neck when someone’s staring at you. The science nerd has a very specific kind of energy, and I’m trying to figure out where they were when they were taken here.”

I don’t ask about my kind of energy, though I want to as Carm paces back and forth, once walking all the way around the building before stopping abruptly.

“Here” She points to a creaky old side entrance that looks rusted shut. I examine the door, but can’t make it budge.

“Move” Carm gently shoulders me aside. She grabs the door by knob, and pulls it straight from it’s hinges in one fluid motion, tossing it aside with all the ease of someone throwing away a gum wrapper.

Ok that was kinda hot.

Through the door, I can see a hallway terminating in a series of steps leading down into darkness. I glance at Carmilla and feel reassuringly for my revolver. She nods at me and we head down the stairs into darkness.  
The descent is silent, save for the tap of our feet on the stone steps. After a while the walls give way to rough cut stone, and the steps appear carved directly out of the earth. There are few turn offs, but Carmilla indicates the direction with the beam of an electric torch from my bag. The trip is long and arduous, it seems as if we’re descending into the center of the earth, and the air grows damp and cloying. After an eternity, or maybe only fifteen minutes, the path levels out into a corridor hewn roughly from the earth. A few minutes after that, I begin to see a light up ahead, and the murmur of voices and chanting.

“Here” Carmilla’s voice is steady, but when I look at her in the lantern light, her face is even more bloodless than usual. I draw my pistol and creep forward, around a bend. Carmilla follows soundlessly as we reach what can only be our destination.

The tunnel terminates in a cavernous space, at least two stories high. I’ve lost count of how deep we are, but we must be under the river by now. The ceiling drips with stalactites. Torches line the walls. None of this captures my attention though, which is devoted to a massive pit in the center.   
The pit is black, blacker than night. Yawns beneath us, at least 30 ft across and taking up most of the room. Cloaked figures line it’s rim, their backs to us, and the murmurs of chanting.

"Ia! Ia! Devourer of Souls!"

On the ground before them is huddled a knot of prone, human shapes. They're gagged, but I can just make out the shape of one LaFonaine huddled in back, writhing against their bonds. I turn to Carmilla.

"Ok so here's the plan." but it's at this moment that I realize I have nothing approaching a plan. I look at her, helplessly, but Carm isn't paying attention, her attention is fixed on a figure in ornate robes and holding a silver dagger, leading the chant.

"Mother." she whispers.

Well dang, things just got a lot more complicated. One of the robed figures, at her leaders direction, turns from the circle and makes her way over to the hostages, dagger in hand.

Ok, hell with it, time to make a move. Summoning up all the courage I have that's not in bottle form, I raise my revolver and fire. I've had some practice, but its still a surprise when the bullet hits the cultists arm in a shower of red, and she collapses to the ground. The others turn at the sound and at a direction from the leader (who happens to be Carm's mother), they draw their weapons. 

The element of surprise well and truly gone, I vault over the rock we've been hiding behind and sprint towards the knot of hostages. I recognize their faces as the missing girls that started this whole adventure. I reach them and start untying Laf, who shakes their head and reveals a concealed scalpel in their free hands. Impressive.

"Help me with the others." They mutter urgently, and we begin the process of freeing the hostages. Behind us, Carmilla is a one woman army, covering us as we work and fighting tooth and claw with her mothers attackers. Miraculously, she seems to be gaining the upper hand. She's like a black haired blur, and for a second I'm not sure if i'm looking at a woman or a panther.

"Hollis!" Laf's voice jerks me back to reality, and I turn my focus to freeing the last of the hostages. We send them to the relative safety of the tunnel and I'm starting to think that this may be going better than expected when the chamber fills with an erie violet hue.

Glancing over, I'm transfixed by the light suddenly pouring from the pit. It flickers and shimmers and in a deliberate manner, and I don't know how I know, but I can tell it's alive somehow.  
A chill descends over me, and I suddenly feel weak, and empty. The light is hungry, because I think it's sucking out my soul. Glancing over, I see Carmilla and her mother distorted and hazy through the all consuming light. Her mother has an expression of jubilant exhaltation on her face, even as Carmilla dangles her over the side of the pit. I stagger over to her, not sure what I'm going to do. 

"You," I manage, my voice feeling thick and slurred, "Really need to give up on the multiple choice."

Not my best one liner ever but it'll have to do. She rages and storms at us, her face turning demonic and otherworldly as Carmilla and I share a glance, and then together shove her over the edge to tumble into the seething light below. 

I don't know what i'm expecting to happen, but I'm not expecting what comes next. The light flares, dims, and then surges in strength. I look to Carmilla, expecting to see the same fear and despair reflected in her eyes, but there's only a rueful sadness.

"It still needs a sacrifice." She says, as calmly as anything, and I realize all of a sudden what she's planning on doing.

"No!" I feel panic rising in me, "If you think there's any way I'm going to let you-"

She places a finger to my lips, then gently kisses my forhead. She takes the revolver from my limp hands, smiles at me.

"You know?" she remarks in that maddeningly cocky voice of hers, "I really didn't sign up for this heroic vampire bullshit."

I reach out my hand, but she pushes away, stands at the edge of the pit, and jumps.  
She seems to fly for an instant, before the light surges up to engulf her. It flares, brighter than ever, and I swear I see shapes moving within it, beautiful and terrible things. I loose sight of Carmilla as I hear five shots ring out. Then the light fades to blackness, and I'm left weaping in the dim torchlight.

***

I scarcely remember getting back out of that accursed cavern, I think Laf guides me back to my house, because my next clear experience is sitting with them and Perry, who, having been caught up on everything, is taking care of most of the cleanup. She's a saint that woman. JP, with Laf's help, is plowing through the mountain of paperwork that our evening activities have caused.  
I know that I only knew her for a couple days, but she really was special. She didn't have to help me. Hell, she had every reason not to, but she never shied away from doing the right thing. She's about as far from the monsters in the pulp stories as I can imagine. I don't know if I loved her, but damn it, I really wanted to find out.

Laf leaves around four in the morning, bundling up JP and heading home. They seem very affectionate together, but I guess i'm not one to talk. I sit thinking for a while. It might be time to leave Arkham. Suddenly there doesn't seem to be much this city can give me, and too much that it has taken. I'm looking around my room, contemplating how much of this I really need to take, when I hear a knock at the door.

"Perry, not now ok? I really just need some time to-"  
Carmilla staggers into the room.

"-myself."

Her clothes are torn, and she's caked with dirt and something that's not quite blood. She looks like hell, but to me, she's the most beautiful thing I can imagine. I leap up and catch her just as her strength finally gives out, and we collapse on the ground together, me cradling her head in my lap. She looks up at me, smiling.

"Hey Hollis."

My heart melts.

"Hey." I manage weakly. I have a million questions, but right now theres just one on my mind.

"Are you here to stay?"

Carmilla looks up at me, and the meaning of everything we've wanted to say to each other is communicated in that look.

"I'm all yours, Creampuff."

My story ends, as any good story should, with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you've enjoyed this little passion project of mine. At any rate thank you for making it to the end. The idea for this story came out of me spitballing fic ideas with a friend and kind of snowballed from there. If you've enjoyed it (or if you haven't) feel free to let me know. <3


End file.
